


Two.

by Ikyo



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Death, Gore, M/M, Murder, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikyo/pseuds/Ikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Done out of the prompt "Shh, c'mere" & Ocelhira)</p><p>"And your bad luck is...that you have chosen him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two.

It was not the stench of blood that disturbed him.

Ocelot had tasted more foreign blood on his lips than some people would shed in their whole life. It was not the smell of pus, which was leaking out of the already forming scar tissue, nor the acrid cloud of disinfectant and painkillers that swept towards him. It was not the whimpering of his friend as he writhed on the couch, again and again throwing his sweaty body against nurses and doctors in a fever.

Ocelot turned and closed the door behind him, banishing the terrible screams in the small, stuffy, diseased-smelling room.

No, it was nothing about the smells and screams or even about the dried blood under his boots that was crunching between the grooves of his soles.  No, as Adam bent down and, without the slightest facial expression, quasi-quietly, threw up his entire stomach contents in a corner of the hallway, it was the cold anger that overwhelmed him. Something that he had never been able to swallow completely. Anger was something that crept into each and every one of his nerves, a condition like a kind of disease, infecting his thoughts and finally filling his body with an uncontrollable pressure to destroy. This had never changed, even if he had learned to control it better or focus it onto something that made sense to put his energy into.

But this time, he had clenched his fingers into fists, the knuckles nearly coming through his skin. He drilled his nails so firmly into his palms that his skin turned blue underneath. And while his spine had stiffened so much that it had become nearly impossible for him to discreetly leave the room, his face remained calm. Motionless, he had stared at the bleeding stump of Kazuhira’s leg, which the brave man had certainly seared himself to stop the growing infection his tormentors had caused by cutting off the limb with dirty tools. He knew Kaz’s ability to survive in the wilderness; Ocelot had observed it so many times when he was teaching the Diamond Dogs recruits. His hunting art was unusually precise and noiseless, something that Ocelot had never mastered himself, despite all of his shooting skills. His knowledge about treating wounds was more than solid.

He never would have thought that Kaz would have to use his skills for this. Burning his own flesh. Avoiding death by undergoing incredible pain, harmed by his own hands.

With heavy legs, Ocelot dragged himself forward, hearing his own footsteps falling louder than the clatter of shoes around them. Everything was in turmoil and everyone was running to the Diamond Dogs’ leader. They were relieved he was still alive and wanted to help, even if they could not do anything. As Ocelot ran his fingers over the rough wall, he noticed that he had slumped against and now wandered along it. His gasp echoed from the window that he had been leaning up against. Outside, he could still see the helicopter that had brought Snake and Kaz to the base. He blinked and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes as he noticed the heavy, sweetish smoke encircling his head. Ocelot looked up and saw Snake standing beside him. The soldier was smeared with blood, his sleeves still stiff from Kaz’s vomit, arms wrapped in front of his chest. He looked tired and stared past the blond over to the infirmary.

"Two," Snake suddenly said and drew so deeply on the cigar that it seemed impossible for the evolving smoke to have found space in his lungs. At least not in the lungs of a normal person. His face was hardened like stone, the one eye rigid and something slightly flared in it that Ocelot had hitherto never seen.

"Two?" Adam's voice was low, but significantly more stable than he had thought. He frowned as Snake briefly put his head to the side and nodded down the aisle. And then he understood.  
He did not wait for another answer and walked in that direction with quick steps, while Snake put his head back and blew the smoke through his nose.

As Ocelot came to, he felt the warmth around his arm. It was a quivering, wet mass pulsating around his elbow. He blinked blood out of his eyes and lifted his head to look into the face of the dying man hanging before him. The man whose chest he just had stuck his hand into. Strictly speaking, through whose upper body he just had pressed his arm to cut free and grab the spine. The agonized sounds coming from his victim sounded like a gentle, soothing song in Ocelot’s ears.   
Slowly, almost in slow motion, the Russian raised his eyebrow and looked into the pale face, which was distorted by naked, unspeakable panic. The blood in the corners of Ocelot’s eyes veiled the image before him, but it was still good enough to recognize. The eyes of the victim died, the jaw moving in a jerky but uncoordinated way, as if he was gasping for air.

"Strange," said Ocelot and moved his arm with some difficulty out of the torso, where he had just stretched the fresh wound, “It seems like your spine is pretty intact…I mean…for a coward like you."

He whispered the last words into the pale face of the other man, was so close to the white face that he was able to draw his last dying breath into his own lungs. As the pained look in his eyes finally broke and the dead body went limp, Ocelot lost his interest immediately.

The torture he had inflicted upon this man was dedicated to a higher purpose. Slowly, in perfect peace, he grabbed a rag that was lying on the small table beside him, carelessly brushed the severed fingers from the fabric, and began to wipe his hands. It seemed preposterous, as his entire face was already covered in a mask of blood and saliva.  
Ocelot’s blue eyes only looked clearer and colder in all this mess. It was the picture of pure evil in the view of the other man, who was still completely unharmed. At least, physically. But what he had just witnessed was more harmful than any physical pain. After he had stopped screaming, he eventually just hung resigned beside his dead comrade, his cheeks stiff with dried blood splatters and tears.

"Chaining up a man..." Ocelot finally mumbled, looking at the smeared cloth between his fingers like it was a painting, "...starving him for days. Sawing off his leg. Offering it as his only way to not starve." He chuckled. "Not even helping him eat it, even though he only has one arm left... that's pretty disrespectful."

He was now so close to the surviving soldier that he could hear the rattling breath in his chest. "I hate disrespect." That whisper vibrated visibly in the victim's head. With a sob, he looked up.

"And your bad luck is...that you have chosen him."

With a faint twitch his opponent tried to back away, saliva running down his chin as he began to plead.

"Did you hit him?"

"N ... no."

"Have you pulled his hair?"

"No!"

"Did you spit on his wounds and laugh at him?"

"..."

The man had not been silent for even a single second before Ocelot widened his eyes. This thought had only shot through his mind at this very moment: Kaz, a bold man who would die for his comrades and his goals, lying in his own urine, sweat, blood, and vomit on the floor. Not only injured, but also mocked about his pain. As this image flickered through his mind, something broke inside of Ocelot and his rage flared like a swarm of angry hornets. With an inhuman roar, he lunged at the man.

Kaz had to sneeze when he woke up. It was a ridiculous feeling to wake up to and he knew it. He felt himself grin, felt his cheeks, although his face was numb, twisting into a grimace, because at least this little shame proved to him that he was still alive. But then the pain hit his body like a hammer, smashing his burgeoning ideas into dust. He was sure that his entire body was as drugged as it could be without killing him off. Nevertheless, all the alarms went off in his head, reporting injuries in every single inch of his body. But Kaz gave nothing except a faint moan.  
Breathing heavily, he tried to sit up, to gain some more purchase, but as he tried to stabilize himself, the bed seemed to break down.  
It took him a few seconds after he had painfully fallen back onto the mattress until he registered that it was not the bed that had disappeared under him. It was the no longer existing arm that thwarted his plan to sit up. Now the blond exclaimed a whimper.

"Boss had learned to deal with it within 2 weeks," a cold voice behind him said. Far behind him. Ocelot had not even entered the room through the door. With a sweat soaked shirt Kaz turned around, rolled his body to the other side and felt four times as heavy as usual. None of his limbs obeyed as they should. Only his nose properly reported the stench of blood in the room.

"Damn..." he mumbled, dazed, and blinked until he could see who was standing before him.  
Ocelot was so shrouded in dark, already-browning blood that he was little more than a macabre shadow of his former self. The stink infiltrated his nose and Kaz cleared his throat to swallow down his gag reflex.  
Too tired to say anything, he closed his eyes and heard Ocelot turn to walk away.

"Wait," he whispered, unable to speak louder. Ocelot stopped. Something ran through the silence, disturbed the peace that was dragging Kaz back into sleep. It took him several moments before he realized that it was a low, suppressed cry.

"Shh...c'mere."

"Bite me!"

"...Whatever." Kaz pushed his remaining hand under the cool pillow.  
"Just act like a stubborn toddler. I'm used to it anyway."

A grunt answered him. It was the last thing he heard before blessed darkness pulled him into her embrace. The next time he could briefly open his eyes, he felt his nose pressed against Ocelot's back. He had at least stripped, but still stank from the torture. Kaz lowered his head and pressed his forehead against his hard shoulder.

"Idiot."

"Did the leg taste good?"

Kaz had to laugh. It hurt, but it freed him. He’d make him pay for what he’d said. And, although it was yet to begin, a reason to start his rehab as soon as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> SO MANY THANKS TO TUMBLR USER Tulliusmaximus WHO WORKE SUPER HARD TO HELP ME TRANSLATING THIIIS Q_Q


End file.
